Road to Boston
by Arraydesign
Summary: Will and Mac meet on their way to cover the Democratic convention in Boston 2004.
1. Chapter 1

Travelling Companions

July 2004 _ACN Studios, New York_

Will pokes his head into Charlie's office.

"You wanted to see me?"

"Yeah. Come on in for a second, will you?" he beckons Will into the room. "You're driving yourself up to Boston?"

"Yeah… I was going to leave after my segment…Is there a problem?"

"No. No. Not a problem. Listen… I want you to take someone with you."

"It's okay Charlie, I like driving alone."

"No. I want you to take someone with you. A new producer we scooped from ABC Washington. MacKenzie McHale."

"Ah Charlie," Will whines, "I want to use the time to be alone."

Charlie shrugs. "So you'll be alone with Mac. I don't see the problem."

"I don't want to spend three and a half hours making nice to the new guy."

"Well first of all I've never known you to make nice, and second of all Mac isn't….oh never mind… take Mac with you. Consider it an order, or do it to please me…I don't really give a damn Will, but Mac's producing for you this whole convention so you may as well pony up."

"What the hell? What happened to Richard?"

"Richard's not going."

"Yeah, I'm getting that. Why the hell not?"

"Cause we're sending MacKenzie."

"That's not an answer!"

Charlie sighs. "We're looking at Mac for dayside….probably News at Noon…or maybe even for late night ten o'clock."

"You're looking at me for ten o'clock!"

Charlie nods. "Yes, we possibly are, so give Mac a ride to Boston, Will. Do the week together. We'll see how it shapes."

"Jeezus, Charlie. What was wrong with Richard?"

"I don't know. You tell me." There's a silence while Charlie glares and Will tries to look guileless. "Mac will be waiting for you in the lobby after your segment. I poached Mac from ABC with promises of an EP position. Mac's good. Very good. On the road to excellent. So don't fuck this up, Will"

Will shrugs, "Whatever."

"Mac's bright, articulate, and passionate about the news. I think you're going to get along like a house on fire."

"We'll get along like something's on fire."

"Oh good God, Will. Spend a few hours together, will ya?"

"You know I'm still going to want Richard," he shakes his head and disappears down the hall toward hair and makeup.

"You already burned that bridge," Charlie calls after him.

When Will makes it down to the lobby later that evening there's no one there but a young woman leaning against the wall, wearing an ACN ball cap and a worn brown leather jacket. She pushes off the wall as he exits the elevator, holding out her hand. "Hi. You're Will McAvoy," she says

"I am," he says reaching inside his jacket for a pen, "did you…"

She looks down at the pen and smiles. "I'm MacKenzie McHale," she says.

"Ah. Right. Of course you are." He stands for a minute, then shakes her hand briefly, "Good to meet you."

She cocks her head to one side, lifts her chin and pins him with a dark chocolate stare. "What? Too young, or too female?"

He sighs and reaches down to pick up her Ralph Lauren duffle bag, "Fuck Charlie Skinner sideways," he mutters.

"No. I don't believe I will," she says, deftly taking the bag out of his hands and shouldering the strap. "Where are you parked?"


	2. Chapter 2

Driving Lessons

July 2004 _Interstate 95_

They're passing the off ramp for Hartford, discussing, just a little passionately about how they're going to cover the convention, the protesters, and the police union, and whether or not Will comes off on air as smart and articulate or just an asshole. Mac has the dash light on for the passenger side and her feet up on the seat with her legs crossed so she can balance her art sized spiral bound in her lap. She's been writing for quite some time, since they moved on to talk about covering the protesters and the fenced free speech area. When Will glances over he realizes that MacKenzie is crafting copy for him for the top of the broadcast. "Listen," he says, "Maybe this would go better if you drove and I took notes. I'm not sure I can read your writing."

"I'm pretty sure you can… it's all block letters…." She looks over at him but now he seems to be very purposefully not looking at her. " Wait… this isn't about my writing, is it? It's about my _**writing. **_I know how to write Will. Oddly enough I'm quite proficient, not, you know Vanity Fair, but certainly Newsweek."

She's sneering a little, but he thinks it's not exactly aimed at him, and he's astute enough not to poke an angry bear with a stick, so he just shuts up for a moment and lets her continue.

"Besides, I don't know how to drive a car."

He's astounded. He's not sure how old she is, but she must be at least 25. "What do you mean, you don't know how to drive? Where the hell did you grow up?"

"In cities all over the world, you ass, and it was never necessary."

"What do you mean?"

"New York, Paris, London, Dubai, and a little bit of time in Kuala Lumpur."

He glares at her briefly then looks back at the road. He wishes he didn't actually enjoy the way she says the word ass; the long soft a… the implied h…"I get the cities….I meant why wasn't it necessary."

"My father's a diplomat. We always had drivers. I didn't need a car at college."

"Which was?" he prompts.

"Cambridge."

He rolls his eyes just a little. "I see."

"What does that mean?"

"Oh nothing_ just explains some of the 'ruling class' attitude. No wonder you're an EP."

"Oh for god's sake. When did you learn to drive?"

"Hmmm. I was about nine, I think."

"What do you mean?"

"I was about nine… maybe eight."

"God, Will. Where did _**you**_ grow up?"

"On a farm…outside a small town…. in Nebraska. Drove a tractor as soon as I could reach the pedals. It's not unusual. Someone's got to drive at harvest and even if a kid's not big enough to lift a bale he can drive a tractor."

She looks at him, reassessing her version of his past. "You're a farm boy?"

"I was."

"I bet they called you Billy Bob."

"You'd be wrong. No one called me Billy Bob"

"I might," she says speculatively.

"My name," he says bruskly, "Is William Duncan McAvoy. You may call me Will, or William, or McAvoy, or late for dinner. You may not call me Billy Bob."

She looks at him from behind her eyelashes for a few devastating seconds. "Well, just Billy then, and I appreciate your use of the conditional.

They drive in silence for a few moments. Will wonders what he could possibly say to get her to look at him like that again, but it's Mackenzie that breaks the silence.

"Nebraska hmmm? Well, I have to say, that puts a whole new slant on your carefully created northeastern prick persona."

"Thanks," he says drily, "It's sometimes hard to know if the image comes across."

"No worries there," she says, folding her arms and staring out the window, focusing through the darkness on the highway ahead.

"I could teach you to drive," he offers. The words flying unbidden from his unconscious mind.

She looks at him coolly, "Your lack of trust, my need for control, two tons of steel and plastic… what could possibly go wrong?"

MacKenzie does eventually learn to drive, at the age of 30, in a jeep on a Canadian forces base near Kandahar, with a nineteen year old farm boy from just outside of Melfort, Saskatchewan in the passenger seat. He laughs at her nervousness and determination, and gestures widely down the road. "Just look where you want to go ma'am, and the vehicle will follow….no ma'am look farther down the road, then she won't keep veering off."

"Call me Mac, not ma'am," says MacKenzie from behind clenched teeth. It's hot and dusty and nothing like New York or Connecticut, but the kid's blond hair and easy smile makes her heart twist a little.

"Yes ma'am," says the kid, grinning at her like this is the best fun he's had in weeks, "but really, trust me, you'll be fine… you just gotta keep lookin' farther down the road."


	3. Chapter 3

Insomnia

Boston July 2014

Early the next morning… not enough time later…

Holiday Inn and Suites

Democratic Convention

She's wakened at 4 a.m. by an insistent knocking on her door. As she starts to open it Will pushes through.

"Your father is Sir John McHale" he says accusingly

"Ah..." she says, still sleep addled, "Yeah."

"He's the former British ambassador to China."

"What's the fuck is going on"

"He was Thatcher's U.N. ambassador!"

Mackenzie leans her for head against the edge of the open door, "I hate the internet," she moans.

"The High Commissioner for Malaysia in the mid 80s"

"Mmm hmmm..." she lets the door fall closed behind him.

"When were you going to tell me!" he yells.

She startles. "I'm still not quite awake here... What's this about?"

He stops to look at her, tousled hair, the dark sensuality of her eyes. He takes a slow breath to stop the arousal that is sliding up his spine.

"Sorry did I wake you?"

"No I had to get up to answer the door anyways," she deadpans.

"Mac! He wrote _**'The Sleeping Giant Wakes: China in the 21st century'**_! Do you know how much of his stuff I had to read in college? International Law? Political Science?" he's just a little wordstruck.

"I am somewhat aware," she waves her hand vaguely, "he's written a bunch of stuff"

"He's done some brilliant work on international relations with the far east…"

"It's every poly-sci major's wet dream…"

"Did you not think to mention this?"

"Right...no I usually do as part of my introduction... Hi my name is Mackenzie McHale and although I'd like you to value me as an individual person for my own skills and talents let me tell you about my father..."

He's still fixated, "What was it like growing up in his house?"

"Except for the fact that he can say 'MacKenzie, young lady, you're grounded' in four different languages, I imagine it was pretty much like yours," she says dryly.

There's a beat. A moment of something she can't quite put her finger on and Will goes silent and seems to pale. There's a tiny silver thread of tension hanging in the air, and MacKenzie breaks it with a moan, "God, Will, it's 4 am. Why are you awake?"

"I don't sleep much."

"And therefore apparently neither do I."

"Oh. Right. Sorry." He looks slowly around her room, taking in the clothes she dropped on the floor before she crawled into bed, the shell night light, the computer that she left up and running.

"Can I buy you a coffee," he says, suddenly contrite, "I mean, it's already almost morning."

She smiles at him, a wide, sleepy, intimate thing, and he has to take a deep breath to stop himself from reaching for her to smooth the tangles out of her hair.

"I doubt it, Billy. We're in Boston, not New York, but I'll let you try." She wanders back to her duffle bag and rummages through it to find a long loose blouse to pull on over her camisole and leggings, then slides on a pair of flats.

"There's always Dunkin Donuts"

"I thought you said coffee, Billy!"

He laughs and holds the door open for her. "I'll find you something," he says as he follows her out.


	4. Chapter 4

As Far As The Eye Can See

Boston July 26, 2004

Holiday Inn and Suites

Democratic Convention

A/N Sorry this took so long, and yes of course I ripped the foreign aid stuff from West Wing… and not that I'm comparing, but Sorkin would have too ;-)

When he opens his door to the knock she's busy looking at her notepad. She looks much more professional, and somehow more mature. Dark pants and jacket, a classy leather messenger bag and a small vertical frown line between her eyes.

"So it's Carter and Clinton tonight, but first we've got to get some footage of the free speech area. I think we should get that kid, Elliot whatever, to do a stand-up there. It'll look better with someone younger and a little looser" she looks up at him, "No offense…just want to play to your strength."

He's a little nonplussed. He's never really had an EP this direct. He opens his mouth, but before she can say anything she looks at his tie critically, "You got anything else in there?"

"Ah…yeah, but what's wrong with this one?" he's totally out of his depth now.

"A little too Ted Baxter not enough Ted Koppel. We'll have an intern pick something up before you go on air. Navy blue with a thin red stripe or pattern, something that says club tie without admitting which one"

She starts off down the hall, leaving him still standing in the doorway.

"Will?" she looks back at him, "You coming, or are you just going to stare at my ass."

He swallows and straightens his shoulders, "Yeah. What's after the protesters…. there's a Brooks Brothers over on Newbury….. and I'm more of a leg man, really. Maybe you want to reconsider **your** wardrobe? You know one of those skirts with a slit up the back."

"Are you flirting with me, Billy?"

"Maybe… I mean, you're picking out my clothes and all,"

"Well it's a thankless job, but someone has to do it."

He's really not quite sure if she means flirting or choosing clothes, but he knows enough to shut the fuck up. The door falls closed behind him, and he strides down the hall to catch up.

00000000000000000

She's in his ear and in his sight all late afternoon and evening, calm, cool and crisp. She's right beside the camera, feeding him lines, ideas, questions, information. He's not really used to having his producer in his eye line, and he kind of thinks he likes it. At least he likes it when it's Mac. It feels easy; like this has been going on forever. They finally get a long break during News Night when the feed goes back to Ed Wyatt in New York, and Will has only a response during the A block and an update at the half hour.

During the final stretch of News Night, Mac is scrolling through the updates on her blackberry. "Hey, did you see that Michael Wolf says Kerry has to be careful about looking hypocritical for claiming to be a defender of middle class and poor Americans because he's rich, Ivy League, upper class…?"

"I did," he says absently. He yawns and stretches, turning his neck to release the kinks. He's pretty sure he only got a couple of hours sleep, and as usual he's grateful for the light wash of makeup hiding the dark smudges under his eyes.

Mac looks at him appraisingly, and launches in with, "I mean the thing is who else should do it? It's come to the point in American politics where only the upper class can run for public office…"

"Really?" he says sarcastically.

"So it has to be up to the Democrats to_"

"I think that's just a fallacy from the liberal left. Our history is full of elite ultra-rich Republicans who defended the poor and middle class successfully... remember Teddy Roosevelt? Or how about Thaddeus Stevens, House Republican leader when the national income tax was instituted who said "It would be manifestly unjust to allow the large money operators and wealthy merchants, whose incomes might reach hundreds of thousands of dollars, to escape from their due proportion of the burden"

"Do you have these quotes memorized?"

"I'm an informed member of the electorate."

"You're a Republican!" she says triumphantly.

"It's not a secret."

"Why didn't you say something?"

"Right...no I usually do as part of my introduction... Hi my name is Will McAvoy and although I'd like you to value me as an individual person for my own skills and talents let me tell you that I'm a Republican," he smirks at her.

She narrows her eyes at him. "Congratulations on your prodigious verbal memory."

"Oh come on… it was funny."

"A little bit, yes."

"I could hardly help but be a Republican...I'm from Nebraska...Republicans as far as the eye can see, I mean if you cut us we bleed red."

She looks at him, "...I think we all do, Billy."

He waves his hand at her, "You know what I mean," he says, "Anyways the point is, I guess I didn't even really know there was an alternative until I went to Stanford law. But hey, Miss Liberal, Republicans are more than just anti-government drones, they're hard working men and women who believe in market solutions and common sense; who think this country should be defending itself against a dangerous world, and that Americans should come first in government priorities."

"So we should cut foreign aid?"

"I didn't say that, but sure; who wants to put money in a hat in Botswana when you got hats that need filling here."

"You can't make this about charity. It's about self-interest. We cut farm assistance in Colombia. Every single crop we developed was replaced with cocaine. We cut aid for primary education in northwest Pakistan and Egypt; the kids went to madrasahs. That's the fact of it, and now we're dealing with the fallout! There's a way to defend America that doesn't focus on military solutions!"

"So the democrats have to be smart enough to use the facts at their disposal. I'm not going to do their job for them! And I actually am not opposed to all forms of foreign aid, I just think we need a better eye on where the money is going, and I don't think I'm the only moderate republican out there!"

"Nope, just the only one I'm working the Democratic Convention with. Who did you piss off in New York, Billy?"

"Nobody!" he yells.

She looks at him with a half smile, her head tilted just a little. It's what he's stared to think of as her 'aren't I cute' expression. "Are you warmed up for our next foray into enlightening the American electorate? We're back in two minutes, need some water?" She passes him a water bottle, and gives him such a devastating smile that he almost pours the water down his brand new tie. Before he has time to analyse the messy confused feelings that are swirling around his brain they are back on the convention floor for the intro to Jimmy Carter, and then they slide into the feed from Little Rock.


	5. Chapter 5

**Cravings**

Boston July 2004

Late Evening of the same day

Holiday Inn and Suites

Democratic Convention

He wants a cigarette. It's been a stimulating day, and he's still buzzing and he really needs a cigarette to take the edge off. Between the convention itself and the on air time and Mac… hmmm... Mackenzie McHale. He desperately wants a cigarette, but he's in Mac's room, and it's non-smoking. He'd go outside but then he wouldn't be watching Mac, and even though he's willing to admit to himself that he finds her pretty attractive, he thinks he really shouldn't make any kind of overture towards her. She's his producer after all, and half the time she seems like a kid to him. It's just… her voice in his ear on air …there's something about the way she feeds him information… it's visceral…like she's just an extension of what he's thinking. He thinks maybe they could be good at this…very good. And if they're very good at… never mind. It actually scares him just a little. He tiptoes around it…pushes it to the back of his brain. Shakes his head to clear the image of Mac sweeping her hair up into a ponytail, and tries to create a casual conversation.

"So what actually brought you to ACN?"

"Charlie Skinner. The convention coverage"

"No. That's the mechanics and I'm looking for the reason."

"I'm looking at several options, Will. ACN is just one."

"Still not a reason."

"Time for a change."

"Hmm. I don't think so. Let's see…moving from a network to cable… that's a little desperate… smacks of some kind of problem… can't be professional… you're obviously talented…couldn't be an ethics breach or Charlie wouldn't have touched you… the man's a maniac for integrity… have you noticed that?"

Mac replies to none of this… working her way through the latest print materials they have, highlighting talking points in pink, background info in yellow.

"Couldn't be financial, ACN's pockets aren't deep enough to make that much difference… must be personal…harassment issues? Nope!" he snaps his fingers, "I've got it! Bad breakup… boyfriend works at the same studio… am I right?"

She raises her eyes to his and all of a sudden he regrets starting to play this game.

"Oh jeez Mac… I'm sorry…"

"Well," she says softly, "you're not exactly right. Boyfriend's new girlfriend works at the studio… on the weather desk…in my newsroom…my voice in her ear… it's a little too intimate for me."

She bends her head to her work again, leaving Will feeling like the biggest jerk in the world. He watches her for a moment, watching the way her hair spills forward over her shoulder. He really can't think of a single thing to say to make up for poking into her private life. He rummages in his coat pocket for his cigarettes, waves the pack at her and says, "I'm going out to check on the weather."

"Cloudy with a chance of discomfiture," she says without looking back up, "buy some dark chocolate for me while you're out, will you. It will make both of us feel better."

He's wracking his brain, trying to remember who the weather bimbo is at ABC Washington and what page six might have had to say about her recently, but he's coming up blank. He finds the best chocolate he can at the gift shop in the lobby, and stops by his own room to raid the mini bar before he goes back to her.

When he knocks on her door she pulls it open, with a glass of scotch already in her hand.

"Well ahead of me, I see," he says, gesturing with the miniature bottles he has bristling in his fist.

She nods with her head towards the table, where there's an open fifth of Jameson's. "I like to be prepared."

'You get along well with Charlie Skinner?" he asks, nodding toward the bottle.

"Don't know him really. We just talked on the phone. He seemed to think we'd get along though."

"Hmm." He nods, "What did he say to you?"

"Like a house on fire," she grins, plucking the chocolate bar from his breast pocket. "Time to get down to work, Billy"

"I'm not sure how I feel about you calling me that."

She glances up at him through her eyelashes, "Let me know when you get it figured out."

He can feel his pulse beating in his throat, but Mac goes back to work. Will pulls over a pad of paper and, taking the materials Mac's been pre-screening starts to write copy notes for the next day.

The name sticks, but it's really just between the two of them. She never calls him Billy in front of other people.


	6. Chapter 6

**Trust Issues**

Boston July 26, 2004

Fleet Centre

Democratic Convention

He tries to get away, to get out of the area before she can catch him, but it's a losing proposition. She follows him through the exit doors and shoves him up against the wall of the stairwell like a grade school bully demanding his lunch money.

"Don't you ever pull out your earpiece on the air again."

"You were talking"  
"It's my job! I'm your producer you punk!"

"You were saying the same thing over and over"

"Because you weren't listening!"

"I was listening."

"Then when I tell you to ask the question_ Ask. The godamn. Question."

"Look," he says calmly, "I have some cred, you know! I'm not just some pretty boy newscaster!"

"You're not EVEN a pretty boy newscaster! At least then you'd do as you're told!"

He rolls his eyes and her temperature goes sky high.

"Look Buster, let's get one thing straight_when I am your producer I own you! You are mine for that the time we are on the air!" she snarls punctuating her comments by poking him in the chest. "Do you understand?"

He raises both hands in surrender, wishing he could take a step farther back or just lean down and kiss her…where the hell did that thought come from! He tries banishing it but is overwhelmed by how incredibly turned on he is by her anger and general bossiness. Oh god! He sees months of analysis with Abe looming. He totally misses her question.

"Will?"

"What?"

"I'm waiting for an answer."

"What was the question?"

"Arghhh!" she throws her hands in the air, turns, yanks open the door and stalks out into the basement of the Fleet Centre. The door clips closed behind her, the sound echoing through the stairwell.

He leans his head back against the cool concrete wall for just a moment and closes his eyes. Like a house on fire. Right you are, Charlie.

He finds her at the bar of the hotel drinking scotch straight up and sits down beside her. She doesn't look at him, but instead signals that she'd like the bill.

He grabs it from the bartender's hand.

"I got this."

"I can pay for my own drinks."

"Think of it as an apology."

"Rather than you actually apologizing?"

He has the grace to look chagrinned.

"You're good at this Will but if you'd trust me a little more you could be even better."

"I do trust you…"

"If you have to… you guess…" she says dryly.

He signals to the bartender for a drink and waits to take a deep swallow of scotch before replying.

"I may have a few issues around relying on other people."

She turns and looks at him. "Really Billy? I would never have known," she deadpans.


	7. Chapter 7

**Ohrwurm**

Boston July 27, 2004

Morning

Fleet Centre

Democratic Convention

He settles into his chair, makes sure his earpiece is firmly lodged, nods and smiles to the interviewee.

"_Okay you big republican hot shot, here's your big chance to bring down the next bright light of the D triple C"_

He's not falling for that today. He's warmed up and ready. She's been in his eyeline enough these last few days that he can imagine her out there, hair gathered into a messy pony tail, hand up to her headset. He glances out at the camera knowingly.

"I don't do that."

"I'm sorry?"

"Oh, no, senator…" he gestures to his ear, "Just my producer…"

"_You know the old saying, 'comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable', You're up in 5…4…3…2…"_

"I'm Will McAvoy, and I'm here this morning with Illinois State senator and democratic candidate for the U.S. Senate, Barak Obama, who will give the Keynote address tonight here at the Democratic National convention in Boston's Fleet Centre."

Good Morning Senator."

Good morning, Will."

"I'm wondering if you can give our listeners a preview of what you plan to address in your speech tonight?

"What I'd like to do is talk about the vision the Democratic Party has for this country. You know, I think that there's enormous strength in the country, enormous resilience in the country, but people are struggling, and as I've been traveling throughout Illinois over the last 18 months, what I've been seeing are people who are concerned about their economic security, concerned about their ability to pay for their health care, their kids, sending them to college, and if we can project an optimistic vision that says we can be stronger at home, more respected abroad, and that John Kerry has the message and the strength to lead us in that fashion, then I think we'll be successful." (Barak Obama, July 25 2004, Meet the Press)

"_Push him on the Iraq war and Kerry's support versus his antipathy" _

You and the candidate have some areas in which you concur, but also some area in which you differ. I think it's fair to say that our engagement in Iraq is one of those areas of disagreement. Can you tell us how you plan to deal with the fact that you were against the invasion of Iraq while Kerry and Edwards supported the resolution approving the use of military force."

"I think that it is important for Americans to understand that as members of the Democratic Party we are focused on the future instead of looking back at the past, and that now everyone is interested in seeing a successful policy on the war."

"_Well, hardly an answer… see what else you can do Will."_

She lets him go to it, but the senator will not be swayed and they only have ten minutes. Will moves on to other questions and Mac lets him go. She's starting to get a feel for his style, the way he maneuvers around interviewees, sidles up to a topic, then drills the question in. She's done a little research herself, and knows about the wunderkind prosecutor cum speech writer and his crossover into journalism. He's going somewhere, she can see it in his technique, and his charm. The camera loves him, and the audience does too.

"_Time to wrap up Will, see if you can get something warm and squishy for a final note"_

Will nods imperceptibly.

"Well we are all looking forward to your keynote this evening Senator, ACN will be broadcasting it live from right here in Boston's Fleet Center at 9:45 Eastern Daylight Time." He turns to Obama, "I know the opportunity to deliver the keynote address is an honor, but tell me, sir, how are you feeling about all this pressure?"

"I'm sure I'm going to be excited, although I was here last night and something that really takes the pressure off, you realize that nobody's listening... So, you know, who knows what lines I could slip in there...No one would notice. So as long as I'm smiling and waving, I think I'll be OK." ( Barak Obama July 27 2004. NPR)

Thank you very much Senator. That was Illinois State Senator, Barak Obama, who will be delivering the keynote address, here at the Democratic Convention. We'll be right back."

"_Three minutes back folks, then we're throwing back to New York for a news update"_

Will is shaking hands and wishing the Senator good luck.

"_I think he's going to blow the roof off tonight."_

Will nods, but she's not sure if he's talking to her, or responding to something the Senator is saying.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"America, tonight, if you feel the same energy I do, if you feel the same urgency I do, if you feel the same passion I do, if you feel the same hopefulness I do—if we do what we must do, then I have no doubt that all across the country, from Florida to Oregon, from Washington to Maine, the people will rise up in November, and John Kerry will be sworn in as president, and John Edwards will be sworn in as vice president, and this country will reclaim its promise, and out of this long political darkness a brighter day will come. Thank you very much everybody. God bless you." (Barack Obama, Democratic Convention 2004)

That was Illinois State Senator Barak Obama with his keynote address here in Boston's Fleet centre. I'm Will MacAvoy with ACN's continuing coverage of Democratic National Convention, we'll be back right after this."

"_And they say the art of oratory is dead! That was fucking amazing! Seven minutes back and we'll do some analysis, you good Will?"_

"Yup."

"_Are you good on the analysis or do we want to throw it back to Dan in New York and the panellists there, and then come back and fill in."_

He glances up at her quickly, "No. I'm ready to go."

"_Okay then, we'll come back to us right after the break, then invite in New York and we'll do split screen on the analysis… need anything on paper?"_

He shakes his head as he scribbles some notes of his own.

"_No one else could have said that… that thing about the black kid reading_," she says.

He nods, "Yeah, I got that," he assures her, "He wrote the thing himself, you know"

"_He told you that?"_

"I asked him yesterday…after, you know… as a former speech writer…"

"_Well it's difficult to say who is going to be remembered most for this conference, Kerry or Obama. You going to mention the signs on the floor? The way delegates were scooping up Obama placards as souvenirs?"_

"Mmm hmm… unless Dan beats me to it."

"_Hmmmm"_ she says, "_You're not just a pretty boy talent_."

"Don't call me that."

"_I was purposely not calling you that_."

"Some of us are trying to work here, Mac."

"_I think we've just seen the future. That was the first black president of these United States_."

He looks straight out at her. "That's exactly what I was writing down."

"_Bam!_" she says, "_We make a good team, Will_"

He smiles into the camera lens at her, and wishes she had called him Billy.


	8. Chapter 8

**If you love somebody enough**

Boston July 2004

Early the next morning

Holiday Inn and Suites

Democratic Convention

He knocks on her door, suitcase in hand.

"You ready yet?"

She looks surprised. "Am I driving back with you? I thought I was in the van with the rest of them."

He stumbles over his words, trying not to telegraph just how very much he's been looking forward to the drive back to New York. "Oh… uh… I just thought… you don't have to… I mean if you'd rather go in the van I just…"

She's staring at him, serious as all hell. Dark chocolate. His argument is virtually inchoate. He stumbles through sentences like a grade schooler.

"It'd be nice to have the company," he finally blurts out.

She smiles at him, warm and sweet, "Well, as long as you're not expecting me to drive…" Her eyes crinkle with the smile, and she opens the door wider, "Come on in, I'll be ready in fifteen."

He watches her compacting clothing into her duffle; folding and rolling, even tucking things inside her four inch heels. She's methodical about checking the room, making sure there's nothing left behind. He enjoys watching her. Allows himself to fantasize just a little about lying on the bed, watching her move around the room. Reminds himself that he's an idiot, since she's at least fifteen years younger than he is, and his field producer to boot.

She stands at the door, head cocked to one side, waiting.

"Earth to Will," she says.

He looks up. "Oh right. All ready then?"

"Just need to check out."

He holds the door open for her, but he's not sure if the glance she throws back over her shoulder at him means "Thanks for being a gentleman" or, "Please, for god's sake I can open my own door."

She leans against the back wall of the elevator, smiling softly at some secret she has. He wants to know it. Wants to know everything she's thinking. He leans against the wall beside her, feeling the purr of the elevator vibrate through his bones.

She glances sideways at him. "We did good this week, Will"

He nods, then says, "You know Charlie's considering us both for the ten o'clock spot…"

She turns to him, straight clear and serious. "I know he was… and after this week I'd be tempted….."

He looks at her with alarm, "What do you mean, tempted? The way Charlie said it, it was a done deal."

She shakes her head. "Not a done deal by any means. They offered me a one year contract on dayside…noon show…news and cooking…some kind of scramble..."

He looks at her aghast. "That's not what Charlie said to me!"

"Well that's what Reese Lansing said to me. But Will," she puts her hand on his arm, "CNN offered me their five o'clock back in Washington. I know their news director. He's a good guy. I was a field producer for him a few years ago."

He looks at her bleakly.

"You should consider looking around too, Will. You're a good correspondent… you'd be a good anchor. Get yourself a good agent…if nothing else you'd get a better deal."

"I'll think about it," he says dully.

"You can't mean to stay at ACN forever, Will. No one truly values you until someone else wants you. Every company says they like to grow their own talent, but when push comes to shove they look elsewhere. Broaden your resume and come with me to CNN. With my brains and your beauty…"

"Or vice versa" he interrupts.

She grins, eyes shining, and then thumps him in the chest. "Ahem! With my brains and your beauty we could rule prime time news!"

The elevator doors slide open and she heads out. He stays leaning on the back wall of the elevator for a moment or two, until she turns back and says, "You coming Billy?"

He nods, and follows her out into the lobby as if he's been following her all his life.

The End

Thanks guys!


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